By MiCi

Last week, I was just a girl
Under the sun
with a tray and fruits on my head
Tattered clothes and unkempt hair
Seeking survival on busy roads
Yesterday, I became a victim
Of an abuse called rape!
Molested by the one they call a paedophile
Invited by deception, to sell my fruits
Pounced upon and taken unripe
My tray was half filled
With fresh and ripe oranges
But the juice of my seeds
Yet to germinate
Was what he wanted
To quench his thirst
My tears could flood a town
But all she demanded
Was her money,
A lost tray is no big deal
And no story was to be heard
I bled
But she didn’t ‘t stop beating
Amidst tears and terror
I told her my story
“We must keep this a secret” she said
“You are a just a disgrace”
I have taken a shower
But hell is let loose between my legs
My head is pounding
My eyes can’t close
Sleep travelled last night
And still hasn’t returned
Bad breath, a ugly set of teeth
And a birthmark on the face
Is all I remember
But I am never to mention
Today, my life changes
I shall share a bed with a stranger
Who by then would be my husband
When hands have been greased
with crispy naira notes
Why should I cry?
He has agreed
To father the seed
Sown inside of me forcefully
In nine months time.
I’ll never forget!
But being dumb
Is not the only way



To be voiceless

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